Zombie Fever: Origins Read online

  Tomas took the key, hesitating for a moment, “It’s good to see you again, Andy.”

  Andy’s face softened and he smiled warmly with those big artificial teeth, “You too, son. I’ll try to get back around eight and we’ll have breakfast on O. B. Pier like we used to. Run along now.”

  A musty smell of bachelor living mixed with household cleaning supplies wafted out the door as Tomas entered the two-bedroom flat. It was obvious from the hint of ammonia and bleach that Andy had spent most the afternoon cleaning up for his arrival.

  Tomas tossed the sack of burgers onto the circular glass dining table and walked down the short hallway to his former weekend bedroom from back when his parents shared custody. He opened the door and was stunned to discover that everything was in the same place he’d left it after his last visit eight years ago. The new boogie board still in its cellophane was leaning against the mirror beside the junior-sized chest of drawers. Posters of surfers and the ’98 Padres World Series still hung on the wall, the corners curling from age. On the card table, his advanced Kem5500 chemistry set with its professional grade test tubes, alcohol burner and highly dangerous chemicals was set up just as he’d left it. He remembered the pride he felt when he got it as a Christmas present at ten, knowing that the label on the side said, “For Teens 14+.”

  He set his backpack on the bed and removed his bathroom kit. The two prescription bottles for his diagnosed, yet non-existent anxiety prescribed by the family shrink had been filled the day before his flight. He took out two blues and a green, went to the kitchen, opened a beer and swallowed them with a swig of micro-brewed lager.

  Chapter 2: Disappearance

  The deafening roar of a KC-130 Hercules thundering overhead from Miramar jerked Tomas out of his drug-induced sleep. He was half-lying, half-sitting on the couch in front of a muted infomercial wearing yesterday’s clothes and still gripping half a bottle of beer in his right hand.

  Must have dozed off right after eating those burgers, he thought, stretching and checking his watch.

  11:13 am.

  Tomas crept to his father’s bedroom door, opened it a crack and peered inside. The bed was empty, still made up from the day before. Probably had things to do after work, Tomas reasoned. He wasn’t worried considering he had no idea what his father’s daily route was like these days. Maybe he went out to breakfast with some chippy, he mused.

  He took a shower and called Jan, but she wasn’t answering. So he got on his laptop to see whether he could find her online. He saw she was logged in, but when he sent her a message to chat, she went offline. So he scanned her latest posts, looking for indications of who she was currently ‘dating.’

  One hour passed, then two - and still no Andy. In his haste to get to work, his father had failed to give Tomas a contact number and now he felt stranded without a car or plan.

  By seven o’clock that evening, Tomas was royally pissed and slightly worried. Why would Andy leave me with nothing in the fridge but a six pack of beer and expired bologna?

  He contemplated phoning his mother but knew she would give little sympathy and it would only reinforce her negativity towards his father. Instead, Tomas ordered a pizza, took a green pill and spent the evening watching college basketball on the tube.

  *****

  Again he woke on the couch the next morning and Andy still hadn’t come home.

  Now he was worried. It’s been two days. Should I call the police? Maybe he’d pulled a triple shift. Could he still be at work? Tomas spent the next few hours searching online for a phone number to Vitura Pharmaceuticals. He found a few numbers with the right area code, but when he called, all he got was an automated answering service.

  Tomas jumped in the shower, pulled on a pair of wrinkled cargo pants and his favorite Canucks hockey jersey. He had a couple twenties in his pocket, so he decided to call a cab to his father’s workplace down on Sorrento Valley Road. He walked down to the clubhouse to make it easier for the driver to pick him up, munching on a cold slice of pepperoni pie.

  The cab driver was friendly and talkative. But Tomas didn’t hear a thing the driver said. His mind was on his father. As they drove into the cul-de-sac in front of the iron gate, Tomas recalled his father saying the company was an ‘enigmatic and powerful beast.’

  He had an uneasy feeling as he watched the cab pull away.

  Tomas turned to the gate and looked for an intercom or a guard to let him in. The entire place looked deserted and the slope of the road made it impossible to see twenty yards of the road beyond the gate. So he took a step back and began waving and shouting at the cameras on the poles above. After ten minutes, he gave up.

  Faced with a long walk back to the apartment, Tomas sat on the curb to try to think of a new plan. Just as he was about to get up and leave, he heard the hum of an electric motor behind the gate. He turned and pressed his face against the iron bars. The hum got closer, then a golf cart came zipping up the hill towards the fence. Tomas made out the uniform of a security guard and aviator sunglasses so he called out, “Dad!”

  However, when the cart pulled up he realized it was a much younger man in that khaki uniform.

  “This is private property! No trespassing! Get away from the gate or we’ll notify the authorities!” the guard barked, expecting to frighten the young man off with the threat of police action.

  “I’m looking for Andy Overstreet. He works here as a security guard. He’s my father. Do you know if he’s here?” Tomas asked.

  “Andy?” The guard looked surprised, “Sure, I know Andy. He’s my boss. Hell, I didn’t know he had a son. Look,” the guard paused, it was evident the grimace that appeared on his face that he was conflicted about how to respond, “something’s happened. Wait here.”

  The golf cart zipped back down the hill and Tomas was worried.

  Five minutes later the guard was back. He raised his security badge towards the cameras above. There was a click and the gates opened just enough for Tomas to squeeze through.

  As the golf cart zipped down the hillside, Tomas got his first glimpse of Vitura Pharmaceuticals and he was unimpressed. The buildings were reminiscent of fascist architecture: symmetrical and simple, with no ornateness whatsoever. The buildings were four windowless gray cubes, each about the size of Tomas’ high school auditorium. They were lumped together in a square pattern. There were covered walkways between the cubes but absolutely no vegetation near the buildings for aesthetics, shade or otherwise. In the exact center of each of the two front buildings there was one set of double doors painted a darker gray, again with no windows. The parking lot surrounding the compound was empty except for several non-descript cargo vans, the occasional white shipping container and a couple forklifts. Encircling the parking lot were clumps of eucalyptus trees planted close for shade and to limit the view of the compound from the outside.

  The guard climbed off the golf cart and Tomas followed. They walked up to the double doors of the first building and the guard flashed his badge toward the doors. There was a click and the doors slid open revealing a spectacular circular foyer in stark contrast to the dull exterior. Granite floors and balsa wood panels lined the walls. A crystal chandelier in the form of stalactites - or giant teeth - hung from the entire ceiling. The guard motioned him to enter, then turned back to his cart and sped off.

  An androgynous receptionist in a slick charcoal suit with a bleach blonde flat top came strolling up, hard soled two-tones clacking on the floor like a woman’s stilettos. He stuck out a gloved hand and said, “How do you do. Mr. Overstreet? Please come with me. We’ve contacted Mr. Bertrand. He was on his way to Los Angeles, but when he heard that Andy Overstreet’s son was knocking at the door, he turned back and will arrive post-haste. I’ve been instructed to make you as comfortable as possible.” He turned and Tomas followed him through an alcove opposite the front door and down a long corridor. The corridor was dimly lit. However, as they walked down the hall, the lights noticeably brightened around them, then fad
ed behind. It was very sci-fi. Tomas would have been distracted by the gaudy display if it weren’t for the gnawing concern for his father.

  As if reading his mind, the receptionist said sympathetically, “Real sorry about your father. Mr. Bertrand will answer all your questions. Here we are.” He held up his badge and a door slid open on the right, “Can I get you something to drink? Tea or something cold, perhaps?”

  “Uh, tea,” Tomas replied, afraid to ask what he meant about being sorry about Andy.

  The conference room was nearly as stunning as the foyer. It was a standard meeting room with an oblong table made of a crystalline substance positioned in the center with twelve high-back leather chairs. The walls were made entirely from what looked to be oleophbic-coated glass. When the receptionist pulled off a glove and pressed his palm against the surface, the entire room turned into a live scene from a nearby beach, complete with the sounds of the surf, the sun high over head and surfers in the distance waiting for the perfect wave. It was as if they were sitting on the Torrey Pines shore facing the Pacific.

  The receptionist saw the look of wonder on Tomas’ face, smiled and said, “Trust me. This is much more soothing than the local news or a football game. But I could change the channel to a normal television screen if the viewer is too much for you. Some people can’t take the shift in perspective for very long.”

  “No, this is fine,” Tomas said as he slipped into one of the supple leather chairs.

  The receptionist brought his tea then left him with his thoughts. What happened to my father? What is this place? Was he okay? Why did this have to happen when I just got here? Should I call Mom or Jan? Tomas took out his mobile phone, but there wasn’t a signal. He’d felt a couple of loose pills in his pocket when he reached inside for his phone. He brought them out and swallowed them dry, forgetting the cup of tea in front of him.

  A pair of lovers walked hand in hand across the beach in front of the conference table, holding their sandals, laughing and enjoying the ocean breeze.

  The pills kicked in.

  After dozing for an hour to the sounds of the surf, Tomas heard voices in the hallway. The ocean scene disappeared, the lights brightened overhead and the door slid open behind him. An impeccably dressed gentleman entered the room. Trailing him was a middle-aged woman in a lab coat carrying a tablet, her black hair streaked with white.

  Tomas stood and held out his hand and was about to say, ‘Hello,’ but they looked straight ahead, ignoring him as though he were invisible. They walked around to the other side of the conference table and sat next to each other.

  Tomas sat back down, wondering how to react.

  The woman leaned over and pointed at the tablet display. The man nodded and whispered something in her ear. Then he brushed his hand across hers and Tomas noticed the woman stiffening and then cautiously pulling away.

  Anger began to well up inside Tomas.

  Where is Andy?

  He cleared his throat, “Excuse me.”

  The woman held up a finger to silence him. They sat there consulting the tablet and murmuring inaudibly.

  Frustrated, Tomas slammed his open palms on the table and yelled, “Hey!”

  The tablet nearly bounced out of the lady’s hand.

  Finally, looking directly at Tomas, the impeccably dressed man said in a South African accent, “That’s very rude, son. Mind your manners around your elders.”

  “Rude? This is ridiculous. Where’s my father?” Tomas growled, the pills only making his anger and his overreaction easier for him to accept.

  The woman glanced at her companion, got a nod of approval, and then replied mechanically, “Your father is dead.”

  Tomas could feel the blood drain from his face. He swooned back into his chair, feeling the room swirl around him.

  “Son, if you would be so kind as to give us a moment, we’ll answer all your questions. We must complete this teleconference with the board first.” The man said in a soothing voice, pointing to his ear. Tomas hadn’t noticed that both were wearing translucent earpieces, which would account for the odd disjointed conversation between them.

  So Andy was dead.

  Tomas had avoided visiting his father for so long. All those missed chances to catch up and build a true father and son relationship. His guilt was overwhelming. Tomas put his head in his hands and began to sob.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was the woman in the lab coat. She seemed genuinely sympathetic. She took Tomas in her arms and consoled him in a motherly embrace while the man with the South African accent finished his private teleconference.

  Once Tomas began to calm, the woman slipped away and sat back down.

  “Son, my name is Karl Bertrand and this is Dr. Greer. I’m in charge of the San Diego biological research and development division of Vitura Pharmaceuticals and my lovely companion is our senior scientist in residence.” He took a deep breath, “Let me begin by saying that I knew your father well. I worked with him for years. He was a good man. Courageous. And his death was not in vain.” He swiveled around and tapped out a code on the wall, “However, before we discuss the circumstances of your father’s unfortunate death, I think it’s best to show you his heroism first.”

  The room went dark and a screen made from light appeared as though floating above the center of the conference table, suspended in the air between Tomas and the two Vitura representatives, a logo with Vitura Pharma turned slowly on the display.

  The screen went blank, and then there was Andy walking down a hallway, his aviator glasses hanging from his lapel. He was fishing out a cigarette from a crumpled soft pack pulled out of his shirt pocket. At the bottom right of the screen the date and time read the day before yesterday at 3:23 am. He almost made it to the exit when, suddenly, the hallways lights began to flash yellow in an emergency fashion. Andy dropped his cigarettes, turned and ran down the hall shouting silently.

  The camera changed to another view inside a large antechamber that dipped towards the center. And in the center was a sealed glass laboratory complete with its own system of air locks. Inside the glass laboratory, three scientists in powder blue bio-safety positive-pressure suits were milling around a large malfunctioning device spraying a fine greenish mist into the air.

  Andy could be seen bursting through the doors and leaping down the stairs of the auditorium style room towards the enclosed laboratory.

  Inside, the three scientists were fading out of view as the green mist enveloped the clean room.

  Andy ran to a control panel against one of the walls. He flashed his badge against the panel and punched in a code.

  The mist began to clear as vents in the clean room floor began to suck out the contaminant. Then there was a flash as the camera overloaded for a second as an explosion of flames began to incinerate everything inside the glass laboratory, including the three scientists.

  The heat must have been tremendous as Andy had to back away to the far corner of the room and shield his eyes while the interior of the clean room was sanitized by fire.

  When it was over, there was nothing left in the container but steel tables and instruments, a lumpy mess where the spewing device previously stood, ash and bones.

  The screen split in two and Tomas watched as several more guards appeared in the hallway outside the main room locking the thick metal and hardened glass doors; locking his father inside. They remained behind the door, looking through the windows watching as Andy took stock of what he’d done.

  There must have been a ring or a buzz because Andy looked towards the control panel, walked over, picked up a receiver and began speaking to one of the men outside holding another receiver he’d pulled from a concealed panel in the wall.

  Andy began shouting and cursing into the receiver. He threw it down and ran to a first aid closet against the opposite wall next to a rack of powder blue pressure suits. Tomas watched as Andy pulled out an indecently large syringe from a plastic case and inject himself in the neck. Then he slumped down
beside the rack of bio suits, his head falling slack against his chest. He slunk to the ground, lying there unconscious.

  The screen vanished the way it had appeared.

  Mr. Bertrand and Dr. Greer patiently waited for Tomas to collect himself.

  Tomas took out a pizza napkin he’d stuffed in there earlier and dabbed at his eyes.

  “Your father is a hero,” Dr. Greer started.

  “What your father did was stop a potential biological disaster that could have wiped out the entire population of California and the adjoining western states,” Mr. Bertrand added.

  Tomas didn’t understand what they were talking about. The video he witnessed and what they were saying only confused him. It was if they thought he had prior knowledge that wasn’t there. “He killed those men. How does that make him a hero? I don’t understand.”

  Mr. Bertrand smiled empathetically, “Perhaps we need to slow things down.” He pressed an unseen button and Tomas waited while the receptionist came in with his tea service, topping Tomas’ empty cup and pouring two more for Mr. Bertrand and Dr. Greer.

  Bertrand sipped his tea for a moment then said, “What do you know about Vitura Pharmaceuticals, Tomas?”

  Tomas let out a deep breath and after a long pause said, “Nada.”

  “But surely your dad talked about his work. Everyone needs to blow off steam after a long day. Surely you discussed Vitura over dinner on occasion?”

  Was this guy interrogating me? Shouldn’t I be asking the questions?

  “Look, Mister, I came to San Diego two days ago and my father drove me by the front of gate then dropped me off to go to work. That was the last I heard from him. I looked for a telephone number on the web, saw your global website and watched a couple clips about genetically modified wheat and a potential cure for malaria. When my father didn’t come home for two days, I took a cab here to find him. Like I said, I know n-o-t-h-i-n-g.”